


A Few Days in the Lives of the Backstreet Boys or Murphy MUST  Have Been Thinking of Nick When He Wrote Those Laws

by scraphound



Category: Backstreet Boys
Genre: Gen, Humor, Illness, Mild Cursing, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nick's mom - Freeform, Oldie but goodie, millennium tour, really old fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:39:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30043017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scraphound/pseuds/scraphound
Summary: This story is from Nick's point of view.  Please remember Nick can be an unreliable narrator at times, and there is no bashing of any of the "boys" intended.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Duck-billed-platypus Style

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story during the millennium tour for a godchild and published it on a whim. Much to my surprise, it was quite popular. I came across it by accident the other day while going through an old computer and had to laugh at myself - as well as the story. So, I thought I'd put it up again.

I looked around the room, doubtful of my ability to finish before the photoshoot. I always have the best of intentions. What's that saying, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions?" The room sure looked like hell. Candy wrappers, video games, wadded-up drawings, dirty clothes, and what may have been an orange peel, though I can't imagine how something healthy had come to rest among my possessions.

"Yah-yah, evil spider woman! I have captured you by the short rabbits and can now deliver you violently to your gynecologist for a thorough examination!" Never let it be said that AJ can't think of something interesting to say. At the time of this eloquent exclamation, he was bouncing Tigger-style on what-I-think-was-my-bed. It was difficult to tell from my vantage point. I knew it was time to clean up or hire a guide.

"How's your stomach?" Brian asked while flipping through some magazine. Massive amounts of sarcasm were involved. In asking the question, not the flipping. Brian was still pissed at me. We had played b-ball with some guys in the band and a few roadies earlier in the day and lost. Brian, though a good loser at video games and the like, hated to lose at basketball.

"Better. I drank some milk." There's one for the milk ad. "Got nausea? Get milk." Or something along those lines.

"Two points. Two stupid points. We might have won if you hadn't wimped out." I knew he was mad then; Brian rarely "pulled a Kevin" on me.

"Sorry, but I felt it prudent not to blow chunks all over the court."

"Hey," AJ stopped his Tigger impersonations long enough to ask, "I thought your stomach was burning, not about to blow. Man, I told you not to let Howie choose your lunch!"

"Both, a little", I confessed. I hated to complain because I knew it would lead to accusations of whining. That's one lesson I learned over the past year, no matter that you have grown up as far as the whining characteristic goes, once seen as a whiner, you will always be seen as one.

"You wouldn't have these problems if you didn't eat so much junk." 

Uh-oh. The "I am in father mode" voice. Worse, it was from Kevin, who hovered in the doorway. Well, his head was in the door. He wasn't ready to commit his entire body to such unsanitary conditions.

"Haven't you cleaned up this room yet? What the hell have you been doing for the past three hours?"

"Watching me bounce, taking care of the old Aje." 

Kevin shot AJ a look of disgust. I guess bouncing is not on Kevin's list of approved activities.

"No, really, man, Nick hasn't been feeling well. His stomach was hurting earlier, and he was making threats to visit the porcelain god."

It was nice of AJ to take some of the heat. Frankly, I never knew where I stood with AJ. There were times like these when he gave into some primitive urge to protect me, then there were those times when he seemed to possess a deep-seated desire to beat me about the head with a tire-iron.

One thing I'll say for Kevin, he would never beat me with a tire-iron. A shoehorn, maybe. Might as well get some use out of them; he has three. No joke, three. One metal for the shoes he's sweated in, one wood for his dress/good shoes (I think the smell is the deciding factor here, but far be it from me to explore this thesis.), and one plastic. I have never seen the plastic shoehorn put to use, which leaves me with the impression that it is part of "Kevin's Emergency Shoe Kit," just in case one of the others is lost, broken, or stolen by a desperate fan (I can think of no other fans that would strive for possession of such a relic).

"You shouldn't eat Mexican food, ice-cream, then play basketball. No wonder your tummy is in an uproar. Don't you ever think?" Tummy. I¹m the only one Kevin would use such a baby word in describing. What - does he think that I¹m still 14?

"Why, no, Kevin. I never think. That might put you out of a job."   
Man, was my big mouth in over-drive. I could smell trouble in the air. Then again, it could just be those gamy sweat-socks, where ever they were in the rubble.

Brain shot me the "can't you ever keep your mouth shut?" look, while AJ, in that strange but wonderful world of his own, managed to bounce off the I-think-it¹s-my-bed, face to the floor.

"Ewww, what a smell!" Oh good. I think AJ found my sweat-socks.

"Serious, dude, you need to get this cleaned up. We're not waiting on you tomorrow. When it's time to leave, it's time to leave. I'm tired of your crap everywhere. You're too damn old to leave things in such a mess. And you can damn well pay the extra cleaning fee out of your own pocket if it's not done." Never let it be said that Kevin gave an inch. "And don't try and use your stomach as an excuse. You probably just pulled a muscle from being out of shape." Direct hit, Kevin.

AJ and Brian were suddenly enticed by that magazine. Wonder what was so interesting? If it had been AJ's, I would have guessed it to be a Playboy. For Brian, I went with Modern Maturity. Of course, no way it could be Kevin's, because how would a copy of "Anal Retentive" come to rest in this room?

"Fine, fine. I have over an hour before I have to get ready, so I'll work on it now." I began to push trash in the bag I had acquired earlier for this exact purpose. Looking at the trash was better than looking anywhere else at this point. One, because I didn't want anyone to know Kevin had really hurt my feelings, and two, because I didn't want anyone to know I was considering wrapping that bag around Kevin's head. Might wind up on MTV.

Brian jumped up, scattering a good deal of my well-placed mess. I took satisfaction knowing that what looked like utter chaos to others was- OK, to be honest, it was just a damn mess. I have no idea where things are. On the other hand, Kevin knows where all his stuff is, and he has no more clean underwear than I do. If this last analogy makes no sense to you, may I suggest you spend the next "Kevin forgot to do laundry and is wearing yesterday's boxers again" day on a hot, crowded bus. A rather disgusting habit from a man with three shoehorns.

After making a mess of my mess, Brian exited with Kevin, but not very far. AJ and I could hear them through the still cracked door. Nothing makes me happier than to have Kevin and Brian discuss the merits of my private life in a very public hallway.

"Why'd you have to jump all over him, Kev? He really doesn't feel good, and that remark about being out of shape was out of line. We're all a bit out of shape at the start of a tour! And you know he has been working out, getting in better shape!" Good old Brian, stand up for Frack.

"Brian, you always stand up for him," "State the obvious" Kevin is on a roll today. "He could be a mad, sex-crazed ax murderer, and you would defend him. Look, all I'm asking is that he cleans up the room so we can leave on time tomorrow. Did he or did not hold up the bus at the last hotel?"

To be honest and fair, Kevin had a point there. I did oversleep after the last concert. To tell you the truth, I wasn't feeling so hot day-before-yesterday, but I wasn't going to mention that to anyone.

In the meantime, my demented bandmate AJ had switched to Jacques Cousteau impersonations and was now diving among my mess - sort of duck-billed-platypus style. There was a purpose to his madness, he was in "help Nick" mode again, and secretly I think he was having a blast rummaging through the debris, a treasure hunt of trash.

"Here, Nick," he pulled the bag from my hands, stuffing it with junk. "Maybe we'll get lucky and rid the world of your smelly feet leftovers." Hit a man's sweat-socks when he is down!

"Aje, thanks, man, but you don't have to." I was feeling a bit embarrassed by the entire situation. Leaving my room in such a mess, having my ass chewed by Kevin. No matter the town, the venue, there are days when it seems that nothing ever changes.

"No problem, man. This way, you'll owe me! Ahhhha!" AJ was good at diabolical laughter now; he had had so much practice with Larger Than Life. "But seriously, if I come up with your nasty underwear on my head, you are SO dead!"

With his help, it only took half-an-hour to clean up the room. It should be noted that I am using my definition of clean, not Kevin's. His would be "spotless." Mine is "there is a path from the door to the bed, which in and of itself can now be seen."

I had just enough time for a quick shower and change into BSB approved clothing. Once in a great while, I did give some thought to what I was wearing and decided that today would be a "no underarm pit hair" day. You know, sometimes you just need to give people a break.


	2. Put Yourself in Kevin's Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys have a photoshoot, and everyone does not come off smelling like roses.

I hate photoshoots. As a rule, the photographers we get are "just too sexy" for anything. You know the type, "Sweetie, turn this way! FABulous! Yes, yes, MAKE LOVE to the camera!" Who do they take lessons from, Austin Powers?

We were all in jeans, white shirts with white t-shirts beneath, and sneakers. I commented that we had done a similar shoot before, only it was an outdoor shoot, but no one cared what I thought.

We were doing the same-old-same-old sit on stools and try to look like this was the most exciting event in our lives - ever. OK, sit, turn, smile. Have make-up retouched. Sit, turn, smile. Wait while AJ changes his hair color. Sit, turn, smile. Wait while Howie finishes his thirty-seventh telephone call of the day.

Two hours later, I was tired, hot, and nauseous. During the break, I had consumed a bite of Snickers and half a Coke. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was tired, thought I needed some energy, and caffeine and sugar looked like a fast answer. For the benefit of others, let me point out my mistake. One, do not eat these two items if you have had an upset stomach anytime within the last year. Two, do not do it in front of Kevin.

"Nick, I thought you had a stomach ache. That junk is not good for it."

"Well, I thought you thought I just had a pulled muscle, so how could this hurt that?" There you go, Kevin, argue with that!

"You heard...oh, never mind. Look, I'm sorry about that. I was just in a cranky mood. AJ and Brian told me on the way over that you really didn't feel well this morning." So that's what the conversation in the front of the van was about.

"Funny Kev, because I told you the same thing earlier, and you blew me off." Score one for the Nickster.

"Nick, let's not get into it today, OK? We have a lot to do. Let's just get the job done, and we'll talk back at the hotel, OK?" I must have looked skeptical because he felt the need to continue. "Look, put yourself in my shoes."

I lost track of the conversation at this point. Put myself in his shoes? Not likely. They were too small. I had a suspicion that the pain was the point. Some strange "young grasshopper" teacher thing Kevin had going.

"Look, Kev, OK. I just want to get this done, too. I'm exhausted, and I just wanted some energy, enough to get through it."

"Nick," he started, looking concerned, but Howie took that moment to stick his head in the break-room with the announcement that Mr. FABulous was ready for us.

We hurried in, anxious to get this done, and I think a bit anxious to get away from one another. Kevin and I tend to work best when we don't spend massive amounts of time in one another's company. I don't want you to think Kevin doesn't care for me. He really does. Kevin tends to give the impression that my participation in the group is his only concern, and that's just not the case. It's just that we are caught in this time warp; I'm 14, he's legal. Once you have a set idea about someone, and let's face it, I have been a kid for most of our mutual years; it's challenging to make a switch. AJ says I can break the time warp by setting Kevin's watch one hour ahead, mine one hour behind, standing on one foot balancing a goldfish bowl on my head while simultaneously striking one of my pugs on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. I asked AJ what asylum he was planning on checking into. 

I guess it's time to point out that I am not the most mature person in the world. Not on the BSB bus, for that matter. Hell, I'm not even the most mature person in my bunk, and yes, I am in there alone. Yes, I know how strange that sounds. And yes, I am aware that I have been hanging with AJ for a bit too long.

Back to the point, I may not be the maturest person, but at least I buy my own underwear. For the record, Howie does not. Well, not always. I've seen his Mom pick up a pair. Now, my Mom used to buy mine when we were on the road, but I was 14! Howie is, what, 26, 27? Frankly, I think it's time Howie purchased his own undies. Actually, I think it's time Howie moved out of his Mom's house, but far be it from me.

So the shoot began. Now, two hours later, I was in a jam. I felt my stomach making enough noise to be heard over Howie's snoring, and man, that's saying a lot. The other guys were eyeing me, and Lord knows what they were thinking.

My stomach was not the only factor causing me some discomfort. Frank (pronounced Frahnk, like the guy in "Father of the Bride") had this habit of touching me when he showed us how to stand, sit, or whatever the case may be. At first, it didn't bother me, but it became increasingly noticeable that he was touching only me and ignoring the others. Still, this would not be so bad; a touch on the shoulder or elbow is nothing to get your tighty-whities in a wad about. Frank, however, had taken to touching my thigh when he wanted me in a specific position. That was my fear - that Frank wanted me in a certain position, and though there might be a camera there, I felt sure that the other guys and my clothes were not part of the mixture.

Of course, the guys were having the best time with this, touching me whenever Frank turned his back. Mocking Frank's directions to me. "Oh, Nick, put your leg here. That would look FABulous!" "Nick, love, just here, yes, open those lovely eyes! FABulous!" I wish I had that plastic trash bag now. Suffocation was really the only answer.

I said something rude to them, and they just laughed. I was feeling rotten by this point, sick to my stomach. The lights were so hot, and I was so tired. Tired, of the shoot, of Frank, of the guys, and yes, even myself. I was fighting it for all I was worth, the shoot would be over in just a few minutes, and I could haul ass to the bathroom. I was desperate to keep it down. One, I didn't really want to gross out the guys with any pyrotechnic gastronomical displays, except of course AJ, whose response would most likely be, "Dude, way to lose that Snickers bar!" Two because I didn't want a repeat of the teasing I was the recipient of after last summer's carsick incident. If I have to hear the "we had to pull the van over to let Nick puke" story one more time, I may just give a repeat performance, all over the guy tattling.

Ten years later, or so it seemed, Frank called a break to check his shots. I got up slowly and headed for the bathroom. I didn't want to run because that could set my stomach off and because I didn't want the guys to think I was running from them. I can take a joke, just not when I am tired and sick.

Howie rushed ahead with his cell phone. Kevin, Brian, and AJ were off to the side having another of those quiet conversations, which most likely included something about my childish behavior. At that point, I couldn't care less.

There it was, Mecca with a blue-tiled floor, three stalls, sinks, and a couch. Apparently, some people carry on sit-down conversations in the bathroom. The lengthy kind that can't be done on the commode because your legs will fall asleep. Either that or they sleep there, and considering what goes on in a men's room, both are just too gross to contemplate.  
I turned to my right, heading for a stall, and who walks out in front of me but Howie with his damn cell. Normally this would not cause a problem, but the bathroom was narrow, I couldn't get around him, and the situation reached a crisis point.

"Howie," I know I sounded desperate because I was. "Howie," in that whiny voice I know the guys hate, but I couldn't get any other words out. Something else was trying too hard to make an appearance.

Howie was either ignoring me for fun or involved in the world's most exciting bathroom cell-phone conversation. Whatever the reason, he didn't move. Just as I was about to shove him back into a stall and make a run for it, Kevin stuck his head in and announced Frank needed us NOW. One roll of film had some problem, and we needed to do a re-shoot of several poses.

No way, no way I could do that. "HOWIE," I was getting loud, whiny, and mad.

Howie just looked at me as if I had grown another head, which for all I cared I might have. As he does so many, Kevin took this opportunity to take over and make the situation work. He walked in, grabbed us both by the arm, and yanked us towards the door. Mistake. That is really the only word for it. No, wait. Big mistake. Gargantuan mistake. Mistake to end all mistakes. The status point had just been reached.

I ralphed. I couldn't help it, though I can say I wish I had better aim. I'm sure Kevin and Howie wished the same thing. Ralphed is really too mild a word. I hurled projectile style over Kevin's shoes and lower pants legs. It was worse for Howie, who caught it from the chest down. All I can say is that half-digested Snickers and Coke look attractive on a white shirt. Actually, the color was quite pretty. The smell was not.

"Shit, Nick! What the hell!" Only vomit could arouse such a heated response from Howie.

I had no time to formulate a snappy comeback, as I was too busy trying not to add to the already bad situation. Kevin, in quiet shock, just stared at me. The good thing about this was he saw my face and realized that the spectacular event was not over.

"Nick, you moron! You're only three feet from a commode! You..." Howie didn't get to finish, as Kevin went into "super Kevin" mode. He slammed his hand over my mouth (though I think it was a bit late for this), put his other arm around me, and guided me to a stall. There he held my head while I finished my business. Friends will hold your head while you puke. Real friends will do it while covered in your vomit.

"Howie, get me some wet paper towels, OK?" Kevin was rubbing my back at this point, using small gentle circles. For some insane reason, it occurred to me that Kevin would make a great Dad. I often feel he is too meticulous or strict, but hey, he started with a 13-year-old. Next time around, he would start with a baby and his own flesh and blood at that. "Baby, are you feeling better?" And speaking of baby. Kevin hadn't used that word with me in years. He had only used it when I was really young and homesick.

"Baby, my ass," Howie said in a snit. "No baby has that much puke in them." Poor Howie, he always lost his luggage and never remembered to bring an extra pair of clothes to a photoshoot.

Brian walked in, wondering what we were all up to. Considering our location, I was wondering what Brian could possibly have thought we were up to.

"Man, Howie, what happened?" Brain pinched his nose, trying to look concerned and not grossed out. He wasn't pulling it off.

"Your best bud just hosed me; that's what happened!" Howie was trying to scrape off the damage with a wet paper towel, but it was a lost cause. Mainly because damp paper towels are not the best things to use. They crumble, leaving those brown paper-buggers where ever they have gone. Anyway, the vomit was primarily liquid, as I had drunk half of the Coke but only took a single bite of the candy bar.

"Nick? Buddy, you OK?" Brian was all concerned now. Apparently, the condition of Howie's clothes did not move him to sympathy. However, the spectacle of Frack, red-faced and gasping, on his knees before a commode with no small amount of vomit on his own person, was the most empathy-inducing situation he had been in for quite some time.

"Frack, man, what happened?" I would like to point out that this was a stupid question. I would also like to point out that I did not comment on it.

"Nick's really sick." There are days when Kevin's rate of thought is slower than his rate of speech.

"I told you!" Brian an octave above high "C." "We shouldn't have had him under those hot lights for so long."

"Hell, Brian, he knew he had an upset stomach. He shouldn't have eaten that crap when he was hot." Howie had a point. Someone, build a monument to mark this occasion.

"Howie, back off. Nick didn't hose you on purpose."

"Bri's right, but Howie has a point as well." Wow, Kevin can do Howie impersonations, and Howie can do Kevin impersonations. Someone call AJ. We could have a freaking contest.

The conversation raged above me. Have you ever noticed that people always lower their volume in a bathroom? It's strange, as the acoustics are perfect for a good screaming match. The guys were exchanging angry verbal salvos in hushed tones. It sounded like so much escaping steam, and as I was already hot, the sauna reference was not what I needed.

"We can't finish the shoot; I'm covered in puke!"

"Howie, we'll have Frank take some individual shots while you and I take Nick back to the hotel. We'll change and come back. Nick, I think you can just crash, OK?" That is one of Kevin's best characteristics; he always drops any attitude and comes through with a working solution in a crisis.

After some brief consultation with Frank, Brian reported that the idea would work, as Frank wanted a bit of a break anyway. Then he would shoot Brian and AJ until Kevin and Howie returned. Frank was SOL as far as photos of me went, and Brian reported that Frank was MUCH put out about it. I wanted to suggest that Frank manhandle AJ while I was gone, but I still didn't trust trying to talk, and AJ would most likely kill me. Some things are just better left unsaid.


	3. Kevin Hates That Game

The ride back to the hotel is not one of my favorite memories. The smell alone would have gagged a sewer worker. Howie was still mad, and Kevin was mad that Howie was mad. Howie was mad that Kevin was mad that Howie was still mad. Kevin was mad that Howie was mad that Kevin was mad that Howie was still mad. Howie...and so, as the angry BSB bandmates depart from the FABulous photoshoot, we leave them to their natural habitat. And there it is now! 

Three hundred screaming fans had staked out the back entrance to the hotel. The van kept right on going, past the fans, past the trash receptacle, and just as I was beginning to wonder if Kevin had an alternative plan for dumping my body, we backed up to a large, enclosed loading dock. As the doors opened, we backed in, out of sight of jubilant fans. Once again, super Kevin saves the day! I'll bet he has tights under those pants. 

As I stepped from the van, my head decided that spinning would be an exciting accompaniment to the stomach twist. My knees buckled, and I would have been snorting cement if Kevin and the now not-so-mad Howie had not each grabbed an arm, thereby stopping my sudden descent and, in the process, giving me a lovely case of whiplash.

"Nick?" Howie and those impersonations again. This time it was "concerned friend." Considering the head spin and stomach twist, I guess I should have been grateful he wasn't doing Little Richard. 

"Nicky?" Ahh, all worried. I would have answered him but made a fast artistic decision that any more vomit would ruin my previous work's simplicity.

"Come on, Nick, let's get you upstairs." Kevin guided me towards the service elevator. I noticed that he was using his hand at the small of my back to accomplish this feat. It's the same way Kevin guides a date in a crowded room or through a door. I wondered, did Kevin date women that cannot find their way through a door without help? Would they get lost in a crowded room without assistance? Did Kevin know he was guiding me like a girl? Had Kevin spent too much time with Frank? What did this say about Kevin? For that matter, what did this say about me? 

Some people think I have a very short attention span. I disagree. It's not that I can't pay attention. It's just that I am good at this "stream of consciousness" thing. Why stay with one thought too long? Kevin and I did our own impersonation in the elevator. Leaning against each other at 45-degree angles, we looked like a tent. Maybe "A" framed houses, which one of my Aunts used to live in. See? Move on to the next thought, and the last one can never grow stale. 

In about the same time as it took to build the great pyramids, we reached our floor and finally my room. Kevin came in with me. I was incredibly impressed, considering the sanitation department had yet to approve this room for Kevin's consumption. 

I wanted a shower, my bed, and a warm blankie. I also wanted my Mom but decided this was not the best time to voice the request. Typically I would not want my Mom with me, certainly not in my bedroom - but that's another story. It's funny, a 20-year-old guy wanting his Mom. The truth is if you were a 700-pound disco ax murderer, and you are sick, you just want your Mom. 

Poking through my drawers, I didn't find my Mom, just a pair of clean boxers and a T-shirt. In a pinch, they would do. I weaved to the bathroom as walking a straight line was beyond me at this point. I felt hot, then cold. I was also alternating between dry mouth and that full-of-salty-spit mouth that usually meant a commode was soon to be required equipment. I shed clothes to my boxers, grabbed a fluffy towel, and turned the hot water up just enough to fog the mirror. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers and started to push them down, when who comes walking into the bathroom but Kevin? 

"Kev, what are you doing?" I couldn't believe it. Mr. Mom actually parked himself on the toilet seat! Well, lid. No way was Kevin going to park his butt where anyone else's bare butt had been. What do you bet he puts paper on his own before he sits?

"Nick, you can barely stand. I don't think it would be safe for you to take a shower alone." Man, that stream of consciousness was acting up again, and the picture that went with it almost sent me into hyperventilation overdrive. "Don't get all spaced out about it. There's enough steam that I can't see, just take your shorts off in the shower and wrap up in the towel before you come out. Come on, Nick, don't pull one of your bashful routines." 

I was too tired to point out that lacking Kevin's striping tendencies did not necessarily mean I was a prude. I stepped into the shower wishing there was a stall door to slam, but I had to make do with violently pulling the curtain. Somehow, it just didn't have the impact I wished for. I removed my boxers and threw them over the top of the curtain. If there were any justice, they would have landed on Kevin's head. 

The hot water felt fantastic, but by that time, I was so sleepy I could hardly keep my eyes open. I washed as quickly as possible, which only took twice as long as usual as I was using hotel soap. I flipped the tap and dried off. Tucking the towel around me, I stepped out, only to find Kevin on his toilet perch wearing just his boxers. At times like these, I mentally replay "Things about BSB that Make You Wonder." Why is it every time I sing, "Am I sexual," the other four guys go "YEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!"? 

"I stink." Thanks for clearing that up, Kev, old boy. As I was the cause of his less than pleasant aroma, I decided to ignore my olfactory displeasure.

"I'll get dressed." Brilliant plan, Nick. At least it got Kevin moving. He picked up his clothes, now wadded into one of those plastic bags the hotels leave for dirty laundry and walked into the main room. Quickly, I pulled on clean boxers and a tee. I joined Kevin, who was standing by the door. Apparently, he was planning to make a break for it in his undies. As our rooms were only two doors apart, it shouldn't have been a major undertaking. Of course, in BSB-land, there is no such thing as a minor undertaking.

"Crawl under the covers, and I'll be back to check on you after I change." Kevin pointed to the bed, which I could see due to the earlier clean-up duty, but being he was so nice about the puke, I decided not to point this out. 

"OK, um...thanks." I know he deserved more, but I also knew I would be getting a massive lecture later, so why give him any more ground? 

Kevin squeezed my shoulder with one hand as he opened the door with the other. BINGO. I wish I were referring to the old children's song. I really wish. Unfortunately, I'm referring to the three fans that had gotten past security. The three fans that got an eye-full. An eye-full of Kevin and Nick, in the same room, in nothing but their undies. Did I mention that Kevin still had his hand on my shoulder? In some strange cosmic time sequence, the lower jaws of all three girls came unhinged at once. Exactly how does one get out of such a situation? My first choice was panic, but I was too tired to come through with more than an eyebrow raise. Too bad Kevin didn't try that tactic. And eyebrow raise from him is so much more impressive. And frightening. Those caterpillars flying at ya can put off even the most die-hard fans. My second choice was to do nothing because who cares? There have been gay rumors about us before, and there would be gay rumors again - most likely from this incident. Frankly, the BSB didn't care about the stories - most of us were pretty much live and let live. AJ once informed me that he knew we were famous when we had our first gay rumor. 

"Nick, my man, you are nobody until the rumors start." Of course, gay rumors never phase AJ. He could be naked, in bed with another naked man, in full let's-get-it-on mode, and no one would believe he was gay. Neither would I, but again, that's another story. 

Anyway, back at the ranch - or bedroom, Kevin, in debonair mode, simply smiled, held up his clothes, and announced for the entire known world to hear, "Nick puked." I thought I'd die. It seemed like a good idea at the time, as the humiliation I would receive for this would surely have no end. Let's add it up.

Kevin would share this "simply hilarious" moment with the guys; that's four people. The guys would pass it on to the band and dancers. The three fans would each pass it on to at least five other people. Then...well, you do the math. Even before the Internet chat rooms, it was a staggering figure. 

'Can I have your autograph?" Some fans make quick recoveries.

Mr. Suave smiled and raised one eyebrow, a feat that takes as much strength as it takes the average person to raise two eyebrows while walking on a tightrope suspended twenty feet above a pit of snakes. "Of course, it's no problem." He reached for her hand, which contained a pen and pad. I pondered that she could be a Boy Scout, or at least dating one, her being so prepared.

"Um...well, we really wanted Nick's autograph."

Uh-oh. The dreaded "I made a fool out of myself because I thought the fan wanted my autograph, but they really want the moron's signature" game. I felt for Kevin, as I have often played myself, and it is never a pleasant moment. The upside is that it has happened to all of us. The downside is the loser is usually pissed beyond reason, and I realized that Kevin's helpful attitude was most surely at an end. 

"Nick's sick." Oh, really? I was so sure the fans thought that puke was just something I did for fun. 

"Hey, it's OK; let's just do it fast." I received a winning smile, which tends to make any red-blooded male feel empowered. Of course, at this point, that meant I now had enough strength to arm-wrestle a six-month-old. 

"I would love to do it fast with you!" Man, there goes my mind again. I really wish fans would not blurt like that. My brain took a serious walk while I wrote out the three short sentences with signatures. I just hope none of the messages were obscene.

"Bye." I even waved, for God's sake. 

"Bye, hope you feel better!" And they were off ladies and gentlemen, to tattle the tale, to make sure Nick was immortalized in the annals of fandom as the guy that puked on Kevin. 

"Get in bed." An order, not a suggestion. Yep, Kevin was definitely back in "Perfect Kevin" mode, which means I get to be "Stupid/Childish/Whiny/Blond Nick." Or one of those adjectives. It is sometimes difficult to determine as the lines have blurred over time.


	4. My Eyes are on Fire!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick just wants a nap. His stomach and a fan have other ideas.

Scene One: Me and My Pillow

A bed never felt so good. And clean. Hotels are wonderful in that aspect. Some silent, invisible person comes and puts clean sheets on your bed. I really admire that, as I wouldn't touch some stranger's used sheets from inside a bio-hazard suit. I mean, you never knew what went on in a person's bed. Just running through the mental pictures of what had transpired in my own over the past two nights made me admire the person or persons that had braved the front. I wonder if they wore rubber gloves?

I laid there for a while, thinking back to when I was little, and my Mom was still a Mom, not someone vested in my career. Mom's are beautiful people to have around when you are ill, and when I was little, my Mom was the best. She would put a large towel long-ways over the side of the bed and another on the floor, so the sick person never had to worry about making a mess on the floor. She would sit a trashcan lined with newspaper (it absorbs and is much more ascetically pleasing than plastic liners) on the towel. This was followed by a flat sprite in a tumbler, ice water in a glass container with a lid/cup, and all the hot tea and toast you wanted. To top it off, she would check on you, stay with you, sing to you, or if you felt up to it, play cards with you.

This train of thought made me feel sorry for myself, so I rolled over and tried to sleep. My back hurt in this position; I think it has something to do with being tall; anyway, that's my theory, and I'm sticking to it. I pushed a pillow between my knees and pulled the covers up to my chin. I should point out that this position may require some explaining if someone walks in on you. At least, it did with my Mom. I had never considered how strange this might look, especially if you are using one of those long body pillows I have at home and are hugging the top of the pillow at the same time. 

A strange burning in my stomach required that I roll to my left, almost face down on the pillow. I'll bet that position would raise a few eyebrows, even Kevin's. Speaking of which, where was he? I was trying to stay awake for his check-up visit. If I fell asleep, he would simply wake me up to tell me to sleep until he got back. In his former life, he must have been a sadist or a nurse. As it turns out, I got a call from Howie saying that Kevin asked him to call and check up on me. Man, Kevin hated that autograph game. I assured Howie that I was OK and would nap until the guys returned. 

"OK, take care. You call if you need anything, I mean anything. Got that?"

"Sure, thanks, Howie." 

"No prob, bro. Hey, want me to say "hi" to Frank for you?" Just had to get that dig in, huh, Howie?

"No thanks, I'll send him a private email later." Hey, two can play at this game. 

"I'll tell him to be watching for it!" Howie signed off, and not a moment too soon. 

I flung the covers God-knows-where and made a mad dash for the bathroom, as my stomach made a sudden and unexpected request to worship the John. I hate having my face so close to where people's behinds have been, even if it is my own. I mean, I don't stick my face in my own butt! Of course, if I could, I might be more popular, at least with certain crowds. 

Actually, this is the same reason I don't like to sleep on the floor, having my face so close to where other people's bare feet have been. Of the two, if I had to put my face closer to someone's butt or someone's feet, all I can say is it depends on the person. With AJ, I would have to go with his feet. I mean, the man once admitted he farted during sex! I have no idea with Howie as I tend to stay away from all his known body parts. Not that Howie's body is a smell factory, I mean, not unless I have splattered him with my gastric juices. It's just that if one gets that close to Howie, it will certainly guarantee that he will attempt to carry on a conversation, and it's just too painful an experience when you're not feeling well. 

With Brian, I'd go with his butt. For one reason, he has some seriously stinky feet. Really. He took his shoes off once after b-ball, and people actually started looking for sour milk. So I'd go with the butt, but not just because of the foot cheese. Brian claims he has never farted. I'm totally serious about this. It could just be Tyke, though I have my suspicions about such a small dog and such a big smell.

On the other hand, Brian could be pointing out a difference in semantics. You know, he has never farted, but he has broken wind. I wouldn't put it past him to do that, just to throw me off. All in all, this non-sense is more entertaining than what occurred in my bathroom, so we'll just leave it at that. 

I staggered back to the bed, having the foresight to take the trash can, minus any lining, with me. At least I wouldn't have to make sudden trips. I spend a good two minutes being blond and wondering where my covers were and finally found them behind the bed next to the wall. I curled up in a warm cocoon and managed to doze on and off for the next hour and a half. I was never really asleep, but not really awake. You know that haze you get? You can't move, and you feel heavy, but you can hear some of what goes on around you. That's the state I was in, mixed with the "now I'm hot, now I'm cold" aspect. I kept hearing something but didn't have the energy to lift my head and check it out. I know better now.

Scene Two: Caught Not In the Act

"Oh God, my eyes are on fire!" What? Was Brian sick? Pink-eye be damned, "hot fire-place poker eye!"

"Nick, what the hell are you doing?" Howie unloaded. "Sick my ass!" I just knew I was going to have to explain that pillow position.

"Who the hell are you?" I'm Nick, whipped-cream brain, and you said three cuss words in the last sixty seconds. 

"I'm Haley. Am I in trouble?" Haley? Apparently, I had a sex-change without any notification. It must be AJ's doing. 

"Nick, you butt-wipe, you had sex with an underage fan?" I had sex with an underage fan. I had sex with a fan. I had sex. Wait, I had sex? Really? Man, I'm bummed I missed that. 

"I know you." Kevin was the-man-in-the-know. "You were one of the girls outside the room earlier. How did you get in here, and don't give me any crap. Nick is totally out of it, so I don't..."

"Nick's out of it? Nick? Nick?" Why don't you just whistle and call "here boy?" "Nick!" Brian was in grave danger of becoming a gastric canvas if he didn't stop shaking me. 

Needless to say, the next twenty minutes or so were quite interesting. It seems that Haley had conned the real maid into loaning her a maid's uniform and letting her in the room, at which point she crawled into my bed "just to be near him." Howie seemed to think something had gone on until Kevin pointed out that the Haley was completely dressed, and no one would be having sex with anyone in that ugly maid's uniform anyway.  
AJ took this opportunity to point out that it could be a sexual fantasy of mine, except one would think I would be more likely to go for a girl dressed as a character from Mario Cart.

Meantime, back at the ranch, and where's a cowboy hat when you need one, I had managed to wake up but wished I had just stayed asleep. My life makes so much more sense when I'm unconscious. 

Kevin had escorted Haley from the room, and lord knows what he did with her. Knowing Kevin, Haley was now the recipient of one hairy lecture. Even with what she pulled, I felt sorry for her. 

AJ and Brain were explaining to me how serious the situation could have been. Really? Me being in bed with an under-age girl. And with me being famous (well, at least in some circles, and no, I don't mean the "butt in your own face" crowd) and have quite a bit of money, at least more than the average 20-year-old. I explained that it would never have occurred to me that the situation could have lead to trouble. That scared Brian for about six minutes. That's as long as AJ decided to let him suffer and then told him I was not that blond (not this month anyway, I really needed to lift my roots); it was just that I was that sarcastic. Or pissed off. 

Howie was busy looking put-out. I think he was miffed that he had nothing to do. Howie most often ends up with nothing to do in any given situation, which is why we let him accept the AMA. He was so damn proud! Kind of the way I felt when Kevin chose me to read the fans' questions that time on MTV. I just love showing off new talents! 

To make a long story short (too late), the situation was handled by "super-Kevin" (I hope those tights chafe), I was lectured to by Brian, AJ, and Kevin (Though to be fair, they were easy on me. Even Kevin wouldn't blame someone for events that take place when they are unconscious.) Howie pouted but soon gave that up for his 49th cell-phone conversation of the day. I finally got my nap, even a good night's sleep, and felt much better the next day. I assumed this meant things were looking up. I now know that when one looks up, one must also watch for bird manure.


	5. Fearless Worm Wrestling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Press Conference Time!

Scene One: Cruel and Unusual Punishment

Press conferences. I don't hate them as much as photoshoots, mainly because the press doesn't get the chance to touch my thighs. To be truthful with you, if I had a choice between being stripped naked, smeared with honey, and staked out on an anthill in 120-degree heat or attending a press conference, I would choose the anthill. The torture would be less painful and most likely wouldn't last as long.

I had awakened to the familiar voice of Mr. Dad Kevin, who asked me if I felt "refreshed" after a full night's sleep. I hate that term, refreshed, especially before a shower. How can one feel "refreshed" when they still have eye-buggers? Not to mention the smell from under the covers (Well, you sleep under six blankets and see how sweet you smell in the morning.) and the taste of what I was sure was once some type of rodent in my mouth. Did you ever notice that "refreshed" is the main topic in feminine commercials? What, did Kevin think I had my period? Perhaps Kevin was confused after that day with Frank. On the other hand, I guess it could explain those stomach cramps.

I was feeling better, no nausea, and no "twist and shout." Brian had pressed chicken broth on me the night before, and as I had "no return" on the subject, once showered, I bravely tackled a scrambled egg and toast for breakfast. No problems there. Perhaps later in the day, I will fearlessly tackle a nine-year-old fan.

To end this less-than-stellar flashback, we were now trapped in that never-ending question and answer cycle. I paid attention at first and had even come up with a few answers about our next CD that had Kevin and AJ nodding their heads and expanding on my answers. That's all good. After about an hour, the conference degenerated into the same old questions, what is your fav song, what about n'stink, oops, I mean N'sync. Then something about us being brothers, blah, blah, blah. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was paying attention, unfortunately not close enough. Reporters must train with ex-KGB agents. They wait until your guard is down, or you are not paying enough attention, then they strike. The tactic is usually enough to get me in hot water, but today was unusually bad for old Nicky. Just as one of the Sadists homed in on the fact I had gone on one of my mental walks, my stomach decided it was time to come out of hibernation.

Oh, crap! A sharp pain shot through my stomach, and I gave myself a mental pat on the back for not doubling over and yelling at the top of my lungs. That type of behavior should be reserved for only the smallest of rooms when doubling over and yelling will guarantee an elbow in someone's eye and at least one ruptured eardrum, preferably not mine. What was it? The pizza? No, that was three days ago; surely it couldn't still be hanging around. Actually, I had proof that it was no longer in my system, but let's not discuss it; there's been enough gross-out material in my life.

The chicken broth from the night before? No, anything with the word "broth" could do little to be blamed for a red-hot knife twisting in my innards. Wait a minute, maybe it was Brian's eye funk! Oh God, my stomach is on fire! Oh shit! There it went again. No nausea, but a real pain. I breathed in and out, trying not to do my own impersonation of someone in labor. 

"...Blah, blah, blah." Would those reporters never shut up? How many answers could AJ and Kevin have? Who the hell cares what type of underwear Howie wears? It was all I could do not to yell that he didn't even buy them.

Ohhhh, that pain again, not as bad now, more like cramping. Man, was I feeling refreshed. Maybe gas? That's what it was, gas. I was in danger of releasing a noxious burp in front of the cameras. Brian would be so proud of his little Frack.

"...last fight about, Nick?" Oh, man, Nick? Who's Nick? Is he the one with the tattoos?

"Gas." I'm such a blurt. Or such a blond, whichever way is most comfortable for you.

"Gas?" The laughter almost drowned out the question. "You mean for the bus, or did one of the boys cut one?"

I realized I had just added another stellar intellectual quote to the infamous "Nick's best quotes" list. Damn it, why can't Norway be in Sweden?

The guys were laughing as well. AJ like he would shoot beer out of his nose (Despite the milk ad, AJ never touched the stuff. He once explained to me that it might rust his insides. Brian actually drank quite a bit of milk, or at least he left half-empty glasses of it around in his hotel rooms. In reality, I think he was just using old milk as an excuse. 'Why no, that's not my feet, it's this old milk!), Howie, with a high pitch salvo, and Brian as if I was just being good old Frack. Kevin was not laughing; instead, he was giving me a look one would give to a tiny puppy that had just piddled on your best rug, or in his case, your best pair of chaps.

I gave them that silly half-grin that usually gets me out of trouble and prayed for the end. Not necessarily mine, though, at that point, I might have taken it. It wouldn't be much trouble; I already have some of my funeral planned. Lonely, long nights on a bus lead to weird thoughts. See, I thought you should pick a song that says something about the real you, not a tried and true funeral hymn. Why follow the pack? And if you want to, why not a song that reflects that? "Leader of the Pack" or "Running With the Pack," though I doubt many of our fans listen to Bad Company. Still, it might make an impression. Me, I was thinking of "Welcome to the Jungle" in case I died with sins on my conscience.

On the other hand, I hate encroaching on AJ's territory. Then I considered "Greased Lighting" because I would love to see that Kodak moment when they sing "she's a real ***** wagon" in front of my Mom - or Brian. Then again, having five silver jump-suited guys singing at your funeral could lead to rumors, and I had enough when alive, so who needs that trouble?  
Better yet, "I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts." This is my choice at the moment. It says so much about my life on so many different levels. Six years spent mainly on a tour bus with the same four people would give anyone the right to claim insanity. It would also be the most entertaining funeral, what with the women in the coconut bras, except for my cousin Amy. She would have to wear watermelons as she is a bit "blessed" in that area. I know it would ruin the theme, but my Mom would insist I have her; it's a family thing.

Funerals may sound like a strange stream of consciousness, even for me, but at the moment, it made sense, as another sharp pain ripped its way through my intestines, and I swear out my back. I gripped the chair arm and hung on, just in time to hear the next question thrown at good old Nick. "What would be your dream date." I HATE that question. I have been asked the same question a total of one-hundred and thirty-one times to date. I have counted. I usually make up some bunk about the beach, as I have no idea. It would depend on the person you are with. Being in pain and pissed simultaneously had a strange effect on me, and I really decided to yank the presses' chain. Damn the consequences and the Kevin lecture.

"I would start with a visit to "Brother Bubba's Rodent Ranch" followed by dinner at Bubba's "Fresh Kill Kafe," then for the evening's highlight, the 32nd annual "Ozarks Worm-Wrestle." Have you heard that saying about cutting the silence with a knife?

"Ha, ha... Nick's on a roll," Kevin managed, with that really tight grin of his.

"A hot-buttered one." I chimed in. I figure if you are going to go down, go down in flames.

Brain and Howie took over at that point, though I am reasonably positive the press would rather have been subjected to my strange but exciting answers rather than the other's run-of-the-mill boring ones. I was no longer available for comments as Kevin was pinching my arm under the table and giving me the look-of-death. I chose to pay attention to it. Stomach cramps are one thing; going three rounds with Kevin is just cruel and unusual punishment.

Scene Two: Worm Wrestling Self

"Damn it, Nick, what got into you in there?" Kevin was not pleased with my behavior. Man, that was strange-NOT.

"Leave him alone. He's probably still tired. Come on, Kev, those guys were jerks anyway."

"Brain, that's no excuse for Nick to be a jerk! He was totally out of line in there. Right AJ?" Uh-oh. Kevin was not looking for support; he is quite capable of taking me on by himself. Instead, he was in his "rip Nick apart in front of others because he is much less likely to act up if he knows this will be the punishment" mode.

"I don't know, Kev. Maybe it wasn't called for, but you got to admit that was some funny shit." 

"Kev, Nick had a hard time yesterday. Cut him some slack." Howie in "understanding" mode. 

"Understanding? That I can give, but you want me to just let it go, him making a fool of us in front of the press?"

"He didn't make a fool of us! If anything, he only made a fool of himself." Thanks, Brain; I feel better now.

I guess I should have stood up for myself, but that rarely gets me anywhere with Kevin. I know I should have told the guys about my stomach, but I didn't want any more trouble. So I took my worm wrestling self to the bus. We had a concert to get to, and I, for one, had no intention of being late.


	6. Allele Allele in Come Free!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head for Nick.

I should have been late. Actually, I should have just stayed unconscious at the hotel, and if I knew what was in store for me, I would have.  
Kevin wasn't speaking to me, but that was fine. For one, he wasn't talking to any of us; how dare we not see his side of the issue! Second, Kevin often resorted to not speaking to me, so I used to it. Anyway, when he talked to me, it was usually to chew my ass for something, and who would miss that in their right mind?

Pre-concert is a bit of a blur, hurry up and wait, stand around and get nervous, change, make-up (which I hate), time for AJ to make one last decision on that hair color. I wondered if his receding hair-line had anything to do with the frequent change in colors, but I wasn't brave enough to ask. The last time I was brave enough to ask AJ a stupid question, I found peanut butter in my underwear. Of course, the joke was actually on him. It wasn't my clean underwear. Lucky for all, I have outgrown the "put the dirty underwear back in the drawer" phase. 

My stomach had settled to an occasional cramp, nothing I couldn't handle. But I wanted to be sure I made it through the concert. We can't leave once we start, and there is rarely time for bathroom breaks during costume changes. So I took an over-the-counter pain med. I thought back to the Snickers and Coke incident but decided to take a chance.

The evening seemed to take forever, but finally, we were in costume, in the black-box, cabled to our surfboards. Brian was doing his "Oh, God, oh, God...please let me live through this" routine. AJ was warming up his pelvis (I would tell you how he does this, but then I would have to kill you). Howie was staring off into space, so nothing new there. Kevin and I were playing a friendly game of "avoid eye-contact with the other at all cost." Oh yea, it was going to be a great show. You could feel the love.

Star Wars theme, here we go! I like the entrance; it's a bit scary, which gets your adrenaline going and pumps you up for the show. OK, march time, stand still, stomp your feet, rouse the crowd. "Larger Than Life" was first. It is a great show opener when you are so pumped up. 

This is usually a favorite with the fans, and why should tonight be any different than any other night? I'll tell you why. Because I'm Nick, that's why. BSB law number 3, if Nick can screw it up, he will. 

"All you people..." oh no, bad cramp. Lucky for me, I could make the tummy grab look like a dance move, though I'm sure not a smooth one. "...see your body sway..." Now the guys are looking at me. During this part, I usually gesture to the audience, try and pump them up; tonight, I kept my arms at my sides and concentrated on not doubling over. Backstreet Boys do Riverdance! I was also trying not to scream since we have AJ for that. I convinced myself if I could make it through the first song, I would be OK. I would be fine. All would be right with the world. Everybody's beautiful in their own way. 

Someone help me. I can't breathe. I hurt so bad - oh no, SHIT that hurts! Just a minute more, I can make it. Hey, the stage is turning. I didn't know it could do that. Why is Kevin yelling at me now, and how did the floor get all the way up here?

"Nick! Nick!" I wanted to tell Brain to stop yelling at me, but I was too busy being doubled up on my side clutching my stomach. Someone else was screaming. Actually, a lot of someone else's were screaming. Fans, I could hear them screaming at full volume. AJ put your clothes on; they are giving me a headache.

"Is he hot?" Howie, what a thing to ask! And why do you care? AJ, run for it! 

"No, he feels clammy." Ick. AJ, get your hand off my head, especially if you are naked. No touching in the nude, dude. 

"Nick, come on, man, open your eyes, OK? Please?" Brian really sounded upset. Wonder what's going on? Did someone squish Tike? And who is that on the sound system telling everyone to stay calm? I'm calm. I am also in pain and a great deal of it. Aje old buddy, how about knocking ole Nick over the head with that tire-iron? I could use a visit to la-la land right about now.

"What's his name?" 

"Nick." Brian was really into my name. Maybe it's a game the guys play I don't know about. I wouldn't put it past them, make me the center of a game, and give me no credit. No fair. Fine, I'm not talking to ya anyway.

"Nick? Nick, can you hear me?" Yes, and who are you? I don't know the voice. Brian? You can say my name again if you tell me who this is.

"Nick?" Oh...my...God. Whoever it was leaned closer and put the name question to me at close range, and they had onion breath. Fresh onion breath. It's one thing to be on a cold stage floor, half out of it, in pain, and another to have someone blow fresh onion breath right in your face. Alex, I'll take the lesser of two evils for $300.

"How's he doing?" Good, Kevin would straighten this mess out. Sic 'em, Kev.

"I need everyone to get back so we can check him." No, no. Don't leave me with onion breath! And how did he become we? Kevin, why aren't you taking care of this? Just order me to get up. That might piss me off enough to work. 

Mr. Onion Breath and his partner, Mr. Neanderthal, rolled me on my back, a position which was not comfortable. "Nick, we're going to take your blood pressure, OK?" You better give it back. And why ask if you are going to do it anyway? 

Forget my comments concerning Kevin's sadistic tendencies. He was a mere amateur compared to these two. I was poked, prodded, and I swear pinched. Neanderthal grabbed my wrists, pulling my arms away from their protective stance. I tried to pull my knees up in defense, but someone stopped that motion. Onion Breath took the opportunity to prod my belly. It wasn't the small room I wanted, but I think I did a fair job of busting those eardrums. I also tried to pull away but had little success. I was boxed in below and on both sides. I heard myself groan and tried to move up. Suddenly I felt someone's hands on my head, very gentle. 

"Easy, Nick, let them take care of you." Kevin smoothed my hair back, and I realized I was still moaning. I tried to stop, I didn't want to be a wimp, and I didn't want to worry the guys. Kevin kept holding my head, talking to me softly. That's when I started to get scared. I don't know if I was worried about what could possibly be wrong with my stomach or what in the world Kevin was thinking as he ran his fingers through my hair. Ummm...Kev? Trying to start some rumors? It did feel comforting, but if he offers me a Midol, I'm borrowing AJ's tire-iron.

I could hear Onion Breath, who shall now be known as OB, talking. Later, I discovered he was on a radio-phone to a hospital relating my condition and receiving medical treatment instructions. Neanderthal, let's just call him Nelly, was cutting away my costume top. There went the Velcro straps and the left sleeve. Hey, maybe we could use this as an excuse to get new ones. We were all a bit tired of the puffy vests. 

"Nick, we're going to start an IV, OK." No, not OK. Kevin?

"Nick?" Had I spoken aloud? I dug down deep and really pushed.

"Kevin? I... don't..." That was the best I could do. Kevin brushed my hair back again and murmured encouragements. He told me they were going to start an IV, that it would be OK, he was there. All the guys were here.

"Yea, Nick, we're here, bro." AJ, Howie, and Brian spoke from a short distance. OK, if Kevin can raise those eyebrows, Nick can raise the Titanic. I opened my eyes and looked around. AJ and Howie were off to my left, just beyond Nelly. There were standing side-by-side, AJ's arm around Howie's shoulders. They both looked worried, but AJ sent me a "thumbs up" gesture. 

Kevin talked to me, telling me not to move, to take it easy, but I had to see Brain. He was off to the right, kneeling just beyond Kevin's shoulder. He had tears in his eyes. Oh, Frick, it's OK.   
.   
"Frick..." I had to get that out. I wanted him to be OK. I remembered how scared he was before his surgery, and I know whatever I had was nothing compared to that, but Brian wouldn't see it that way. Since his illness, he couldn't stand to see anyone sick or in pain. It just tore him up.

"Frack man, keep quiet. Do as Boss Man Tells ya, 'K?" He forced a grin. I grinned back, or as close as I could come to it.

"Nick, you are going to feel a bit of a sting here," Nelly wiped my left hand with something soft and cold. It didn't sting at all. OH... that sting. I jumped. I wasn't expecting it to hurt that much. 

"Easy Frack, it's just the IV." How large was that damn needle? It felt like a full-grown tree was being forced in my vein. I gritted my teeth and held on. After all, it wouldn't take long. BSB rule number 7, anything at all takes twice the effort and four times longer when done to Nick.

"The vein's hiding." Oh, goody. Hide and go seek. OB was a fan of pallor games. Well, allele allele in come free!

"It's right there. I can feel it. Just a second more." 

You know when you go to the dentist, and they numb you by moving that needle around and around? I once thought there was nothing more painful than that. I was wrong. Nelly continued to "gently" move the needle around in an attempt to hit the vein. This went on for at least a decade before OB decided to open the IV line to see if they had reached the target. They hadn't. Later AJ told me that my hand started to swell where the needle was, as the fluid was simply collecting under the skin.  
OB closed the line and decided they needed to try another place. Oh, goody. OB took more time on his side. He split my shirt from wrist to shoulder and proceeded to thump every inch of the inside of my arm. Though this doesn't sound bad, apparently, veins have a lot of nerves. OB "hummed" quite a bit, then announced, "I believe I have found a vein." 

You believe? You're not sure? If you "believe" you have a vein, I "believe" I'm not sick enough to merit one.

"Don't worry, Nick, I'm a professional." Oh, haha, very funny. 

"OUCH!" OB didn't take as much time sticking me, either. Wouldn't you know it? My veins didn't like OB anymore than they did Nelly. This chosen blood supplier "rolled" away from the needle. He meant business; nobody was sticking him. Unfortunately for me, OB meant business as well. For a full explanation, send $19.95 to "How Nick suffered at the Hands of the EMTs." 

OB was a man obsessed. He moved that needle, felt that vein, muttered, "It's right there," over and over. I have no idea how long OB could have gone on, it just too ghastly to contemplate, but Kevin, Brian, AJ, and Howie had had enough. It goes without saying that I was in the same frame of mind. 

"Stop." You tell him, Howie. "You're not getting it, OK? Just stop."

"It's almost there." OB was not a quitter. For the sequel, send an additional $19.95 to "How Nick suffered some more." I didn't want to be a quitter either, but between the pain in my stomach and the fire in my hand, I started to lose control. Tears began to leak out of the corners of my eyes. I closed them tightly to stop crying, but that only pushed more out.

"Stop, NOW." "Stop, you're just hurting him!" Kevin and Brain talked over each other. I could hear AJ saying something in the background, but it's just too vulgar to relate to being honest with you. Let's just say OB and Nelly's parentage was called into question.

At this time, two other EMTs showed up with a stretcher, and it was a good thing. OB and Nelly had it out with four unhappy BSB's concerning my medical treatment. The guys were accused of interfering with necessary procedures. The EMTs were accused of being morons. 

"Excuse me, can we help?" A female voice. Eyes open, Nick. Yes, it's true. Even in great pain, the male animal will sense the female and make his move. In my case, it was nothing more than a sad puppy dog look, but never underestimate the power of pity. It has gotten more than one man laid. 

Kat, my new EMT, was also a nursing student. Can you believe this brown-eyed beauty's specialty was IVs? That and bad EMT humor. "Hey Nick, did you ever wonder if Roman EMTs call IV's fours?" The joke was to be a distraction while she started the IV, and it was so painful itself that it almost worked. I barely winced this time, and she hit the vein on the first poke—Nick's veins like female EMT. Nick also liked whatever that clear fluid was she put in the IV, for I suddenly felt light-headed. Best of all, though I could still feel the pain, it was hazy and far-away. 

I closed my eyes again and drifted, only half-listening to the conversation. I think I felt myself being lifted, but I can't be sure. I was surrounded by cotton, or so it felt. Suddenly the ground below me was cushy, and something soft and warm was over me.

"Nick, we're going to change and follow, OK? We'll be real fast. They won't let us ride with you, but we'll be right there, I promise." OK Brain. No problem, bro. I think I'll sleep on the way in if no one minds.


	7. Tubes, Belt Buckles, and Kryptonite

Scene One: Avoid the Christmas Rush

There I was, all comfy, warm and sleepy. Why couldn’t they have left me alone? Suddenly there was a bright light in my eyes, and I was cold. Very cold. Someone had pulled my covers away, and to my great embarrassment, was stripping off the rest of my clothing. I won’t even take off my shirt for a photo, for heaven’s sake, much less get naked in a room full of total strangers. The total strangers did not take my feeling on the subject into account. I thought they would at least stop at the underwear. I guess they were not brief fans. The room was a crisp minus 30 degrees to top it all off, which doesn’t give any part of your body much space to make an impression, much less an important one.

My shivering must have melted their cold hearts because someone got me a gown. A gown that wouldn’t go around AJ’s waist and wouldn’t reach Howie’s knees. Therefore, I was still technically nude. At least I got a blanket, though I swear it was thinner than the hankies Kevin used to wipe his lily-white nose on. 

I have seen ER, so I was prepared for quite a bit of yelling and carrying on, of which none occurred. If I had puked blood, it might have excited them, but all I received was hushed voices that rivaled Brian and Howie’s bathroom argument. I wish I hadn’t thought of that because it made me think of Frank, which led me to think of what I was wearing, and you know how my mind works. My blood pressure did a little dance, which set off one of the what-seemed-like sixty-five monitors I was hooked into. This upset a nurse, who called a doctor, which led to all types of hideous things, most of which are better left unsaid. All I can say is I have no idea what one’s anus has to do with an upset stomach, but I’ll just bet Kevin could tell me, him having such a vast knowledge of being “retentive.” 

On the bright side, I expanded my vocabulary. Next time we are on MTV, watch me buzz in with the correct answers! “What’s the most painful thing man can endure? A catheter? That’s correct, Nick, for 1000 points!”

About this time, my IV infiltrated, which meant they needed to start a new one for those of you who are laymen. For me, it meant I was in the hands of medical personal who couldn’t get their feces collated. Sorry, Brian and Howie won’t really let me cuss. 

I decided to skip the suffering sequel and passed out during this IV, which was the best choice. I woke up warmer under a thicker blanket, with the lights lower (they were only using 4000-watt bulbs now) and Brian by my side. I could hear Kevin off in the distance, giving someone what for. The what for recipient turned out to be my doctor, who returned with Kevin and news. As it turns out, I was glad to see Kevin but not entirely happy to receive the news. I needed a “scope,” and even being as blond as I was, I had no illusions that this would be a simple procedure. It seems that a scope is a tube with a camera attached to its end that is pushed into your stomach by way of your esophagus. The idea of having tubes running in both ends of me simultaneously was not something I was looking forward to, but I was given few options. The next was exploratory surgery, and just the word surgery alone is scary enough but exploratory? I had one of my vivid mental pictures of the doctors bending over my gutted carcass, “Hey, what do you think this thing is? The stomach? No, can’t be, it’s too small. The liver? Gee, I always thought the liver would have onions on it.” and so forth and so forth and so forth.

I agreed to the scope for several reasons. Number one, I would be unconscious, and as I have already explained (and as I think you can see), my life just runs more smoothly in the un-awake stage. Number two, I really did want to find out what was causing my problem. And number three, Kevin and Brian threatened to kill me when I initially refused. Not that they were mean about it. Brian just pointed out that as I was going to be stupid and stay sick, which would most likely lead to my death at some time or another, why not just let him take care of that now? Kevin only agreed with Brian to avoid making him any crazier because who wants to do that? No one, that’s who. Brian is just too nice a guy to upset, which leads me to think that it’s not entirely fair. I mean, AJ and Howie wallow in their quest to tease and therefore upset Nick. Maybe I should start whining now and avoid the Christmas rush.

Scene Two: Superman Between Me and the Kryptonite

Before the scope, I had a gastric empty study. I thought it sounded redundant as I spent the entire night emptying my gastric tract, but my doctor insisted. Also, Brian and Kevin were within earshot when “we” (Everything in hospital terms is plural. “We” do everything, though as far as I could tell, I was getting the short end of the stick.) discussed the procedure. First, my stomach needed to be empty. No problem there. They placed me on a stretcher and took me to radiology. There I was given a treat, a scrambled egg and one piece of toast. I was supposed to eat the egg and toast doctored with radioactive dye. This would show up on the x-rays as it passed through my digestive tract. I had no problem with the procedure until the technician brought in the dye. She was wearing lead gloves and removed the dye with a long pair of tweezers. Then she injected the egg with the dye.

“Here you go, Mr. Carter, eat up!” 

Eat up? You want me to eat that? You won’t even touch it without lead protection, and I’m supposed to put it in my mouth? Now I know we eat some strange things in our travels. I have eaten food I cannot identify and food I could but wished I had not. But never, never, have I needed Superman to stand between me and the kryptonite. 

“I’d like to speak to the doctor, please.” No sense in being nasty. After all, she was the lady in charge of the radioactive stuff!

“Dr. Monsour is not here, Mr. Carter. He will make rounds later in the day. Here you go, let’s (Man, I was going to develop a split personality.) put the head of your bed up. Good, now here’s your egg.” 

“Um...I really feel nauseous; I don’t think I could keep this down.” Excuses, excuses.

“Mr. Carter, we gave you something in your IV for that, so there will be no problem. Now, here you go!” Man, she was perky. 

“Well...” I wasn’t convinced I wouldn’t be poisoned. After all, this nurse could be an N’sync fan.

“Mr. Carter, are we trying to be difficult?” Trying? No. Being? Yes, “we” were. Or at least one of my personalities was. I just gave her my puppy dog look, hoping for the best. 

The best turned out to be Kevin and AJ, who had been lurking (waiting is not really a good word to describe what AJ does) in the corridor if the tech needed backup. These guys know me too well. 

“Nick, what’s the problem.” OK, I’m 20 years old. If I don’t want to eat a damn egg, I shouldn’t have to eat a damn egg. I was going to tell Kevin that too, as soon as he was in another state from me. I wanted to tell him something but was afraid that I would say something tacky if I opened my mouth. So I simply crossed my arms and gave one of my famous pouts. That should work.

It didn’t. Or maybe it did. I should have specified what I wanted it to do. What it did was push Kevin over the edge. He leaned in with that “don’t ’ you DARE give me any trouble” look he has perfected over the years and let me have it.

“Nick, you are really sick. You could have something serious. I am not trying to scare you; I know you must be scared to start with. Brian is freaked. He is down the hall climbing the walls. We’re all worried; AJ and Howie didn’t even go back to the hotel to sleep last night. Fans are freaking out the hospital staff, sneaking getting in ways you can’t even being to imagine. They are worried as well.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “Nick, we want you to get well. I know this is scary, but you have to let the doctors take care of you. We’re all here; no one is going to leave. We care about you, bro. We will make sure everything they do is on the up-and-up. OK? Everything is fine. So do this, OK? No more problems, no pouting, no more making the staff find one of us to talk you into something. Because, I swear Nick, if you do, I WILL DRAG YOUR ASS OUT OF THAT BED AND BEAT IT WITH THE BUCKLE END OF MY BELT AND I WILL LET THE ENTIRE STAFF WATCH! Got it?”

“Yes.” 

“Good. Here baby, eat your egg.” 

I did.  
-


	8. Rubber Chicken Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AJ and Howie try to distract Nick.

The test took an hour. I was moved onto a slab with a blanket on it that fit under the x-ray machine. My arms were strapped to my sides, and I was pushed under the machine. It was a very tight fit, and the tech asked me if I suffered from claustrophobia. Could have asked that before shoving me in the cracker box, but hey, you can't think of everything ahead of time. I hate small spaces and might have pointed this out if it were not for the fact that I was concerned any complaints on my part would bring Kevin running with a belt. 

The machine made a loud banging noise every few seconds, and my first guess was that it collapse on top of me. My second guess was AJ having sex in the next room. Well, that's what it sounded like. Loud noise, trapped arms, and fear for my life aside, I managed to fall asleep about half-way through the test. Kevin would undoubtedly use this information as proof that my childish behavior was simply an overreaction. Why, in the name of all that is good and holy, does Kevin always accuse me of overreacting? 

I was wheeled back to my room for a short nap, which I didn't need by that time. AJ was waiting for me, so I had someone to talk to. He was still enjoying the "Nick's bare-backside gets it in the end" scenario. To give him credit, he really tried not to burst out laughing when I told the nurse, "fine, no problem" to anything she wanted "us" to do. He just couldn't help himself. Of course, the flash of my bare butt when I was moved from the stretcher to the bed did not go unnoticed. For the benefit of those who are not familiar with AJ's songwriting skills, here is his "on the spot" composition in honor of my fanny. "I see your hiney; it's nice and shiny. You better hide it before I bite it." Really, your honor, I have no idea how AJ was garroted by my IV line.

The doctor came for a short visit about an hour later. As it turned out, I wouldn't have the scope until the following day. He wanted the results from the gastric empty before he did the next test. He asked how I felt, which was drugged up, and poked on my middle until I winced. He pointed out that since there was no blood in my urine, I could have the catheter out - if I wished. If I wished? Had anyone ever said no? And if so, what was wrong with that person? Over the next two hours, I was relieved of the catheter but had to keep the IV. As it was the primary source of my pain medication, I didn't mind. 

AJ had brought my Gameboy, in case there was nothing on TV. He also got a toothbrush, razor, and other necessities. After consulting a nurse, I changed into the PJ pants and tee he brought. I would have to switch back to the gown in the morning, but at least my shiny hiney wouldn't be on display tonight. If AJ was disappointed, he did a great job of covering it up.

Howie arrived later and brought cards. He had developed a real attachment to gambling and was disappointed when AJ pointed out that we would have to play for free, as I was underage. Howie bought it, which begs the question, "which BSB is the natural blond?" We played "Shit on your neighbor." I'm not cussing, really! That's the name of the game. AJ taught it to me. It's all his fault I'm not as innocent as I use to be, him and those magazines he has under his bunk. 

AJ felt it was his duty to keep me entertained, which I actually appreciated. He didn't give me much time to worry about the results of my test. I was also sleepy, having had little shut-eye between bouts of vomiting the night before. So I spent the afternoon between dozing, playing cards, watching Howie make phone calls (I genuinely believe Howie will be the first man to have a phone in his coffin.), and listening to the ditties AJ made up. It seems he was in the mood to serenade more body parts, as well as his attraction for body art. A song by AJ. "I have a daisy on my toe, it won't die, and it won't grow, it's just a tattoo of a flower, so I look pretty in the shower." 

Somehow the conversation moved from more apparent subjects, such as AJ's next hair color (At this point, he was down to rainbow.) Howie's last phone call, which was a call telling him to call someone, and Kevin's shoehorns. Later, probably due to all that rubber glove exposure in the ER, the topic turned to rubber chickens. You may not be aware of this, but rubber chickens are an effective method of self-defense. AJ, Howie, and I spent a productive afternoon developing rubber chicken self-defense methods. It's incredible what pain drugs can do for you, or in this case, for me. Howie went along because he wants to make everyone happy. I have no idea what AJ's excuse was, but then he never really needs one, does he?

Rubber chickens are really a good idea. Think of it; for one, they can be easily concealed on your person (perhaps that's the reason for all AJ's hats!). You can't be arrested for carrying a deadly weapon. Moreover, the element of surprise alone is a valuable tool. Not to mention, a rubber chicken would never go off accidentally. 

There are several methods for using a rubber chicken. You can disarm your attacker by making them laugh so hard they pee themselves and fall down. This can best be achieved by clucking like a chicken, moving like a chicken, and if you are as talented as AJ, molting like a chicken. I believe Howie suggested one could poop like a chicken, but considering the flack I received from that sock incident a few years before, I felt this technique should be avoided at all costs.

You can fill the chicken with concrete or other hard objects and use it to whack your adversary. Alternatively, you can use AJ's patented "Pecker" technique (Not surprised, are you?), which is to grasp the chicken by the neck and peck at the eyes of your attacker. Please note that making loud clucking noises is mandatory.

You could use Howie's infamous "Chicken Choke" method, which it turns out has nothing to do with going to the bathroom. You grab the rubber chicken by the neck and legs and use it to garrote your opponent. Not as interesting as the Pecker, but most likely more potent.

My maneuver was the Cluck-Chuck. This is accomplished by simultaneously clucking like a chicken and chucking the rubber object as a projectile weapon. Being as I was the most bored and the fact that I could blame it on the drugs, I also produced the "Wreak of the Beak" procedure. This method is achieved by squirting liquids from the bird's beak, such as water, dye, or sulfuric acid. Said liquids should be aimed at the eye of the aggressor.

After a heated discussion, we decided that simply making the attacker believe you are more insane than they were was the best method. AJ suggested dancing with the chicken; Howie was in favor of kissing the rubber beast. Using a plastic fork and knife, I felt that eating the chicken would be the best method for confusing the criminal. One last note, you can use multiple rubber chickens and make full-body armor. This wouldn't stop the aggressor, but it would afford you some protection.

Howie became a bit confused and started a discussion on violent rubber chickens. First, it's my role in the group to be confused, and second, it sounded too much like a FOX special, "When Rubber Chickens Attack."  
Brian and Kevin arrived to spell the guys, so the fascinating topic of rubber chickens was left in the dust. Actually, the bedpan. With the painkillers wearing off, my stomach decided to do its imitation of "a stomach full of hot dogs on a roller-coaster ride."

I was a bit upset that my stomach had not settled down after an entire day of not eating. I think Kevin and Brian could sense this and did their best to keep my mind off the situation. Luckily the nurse arrived with my meds, which took the edge off both the pain and the worry. I was grateful, and I'm sure the guys were as well. Poor Brian has had to suffer once too often from "Nick in serious 'I'm scared' mode." It's usually his fault, taking me to those movies. And I REALLY did hear something, and who wants a zombie to sneak up on them in the middle of the night? I thought I would wake up before Brian and, therefore, would be able to remove the bucket from over the door. Anyway, it was on our side, so it's really Brian's fault for not being observant. You would have thought someone had skinned Tyke. Of course, when he discovered that it wasn't water in the bucket, things got worse. I never knew Brian could hit that octave. I think Kevin should have accused him of overreacting. Well, it's not like anyone has ever died from a head drenched in urine.


	9. IVs and Houston Pee

"Mr. Carter? Mr. Carter?" Oh no, not her again! "Mr. Carter, we need to get you ready for surgery now." No, we don't. I've decided not to go.

"Mr. Carter? Let's wake up now!" Damn it, you sound good and awake. I'm sleeping. Call me next month.

"Here we go!" UGH! That light was bright! And unless you are discussing "Lite Brite," this is not a good thing. I wonder what happened to mine?

"There we are. You need to change into this gown for me. OK? Then I'll get you ready." Exactly how does one "get ready" for surgery? Cut yourself to test your pain tolerance? I took another route.

"Brain! Kevin?" Where were those guys? 

"They went to the coffee shop, Mr. Carter. Here we go! Your friend told me green was your favorite color!" Oh goody. A green gown. That's supposed to make me feel better? Hey, they are going to OPERATE on me, but no worries! I have a green gown!

"It's olive green, and I hate olive green. Funny, I love green olives. I know I'm comparing apples to oranges, but then logic has never been my strong suit. I'll bet you are surprised." I'll bet she notices I'm babbling and calls the guys with the white jackets with long sleeves.

"Do you need help changing into your gown Mr. Carter?" Oh, stop changing tenses. You're making me nervous.

"No, I can do it." I'm THIS many years old! 

"I'll be right back and get you situated." 

Oh, that sounds worse than get you ready. What type of "situated" does one need to get into for surgery? Why didn't I ever ask Brian questions? Because I didn't want to upset him, that's why. Why didn't he volunteer information? Maybe he didn't want to upset me. But Kevin said there was nothing to be upset about. It's just day surgery. As opposed to night surgery, I guess. I'm losing it, and I am not changing into that gown. As a matter of fact, I think I'll skip the surgery. Brian offered to kill me; I think that would be safer and far less painful. 

"Mr. Carter, are you ready?" NO. Think Nick. Damn, I wish I practiced that more.

"I'm changing!" That should throw her off. 

"Is there a problem?" Yes, I'm not letting you evil goons get your hands on me; that's what.

Silence. OK, she was gone. Perhaps she knew I meant business. Perhaps she had other patients to torture. Perhaps she had... "Nick?" GONE TO GET KEVIN! Hail Mary, full of Grace. Blessed art thou above all women, and PLEASE SAVE ME. I only had time for the short version.

"Nick, what's the problem." No problem, Kevin. Hold still while I frisk you for deadly weapons. Is that a rubber chicken in your pants?

"Um...the gown is too small. I need a larger one, and it's olive green." Oh, yea that makes sense.

"Nick, I told them to give you a longer gown; that's what the green ones are for. It's OK, now let's get you changed." Let's? The Pod People had Kevin! And apparently any courage I might have possessed. I let Kevin help me change because I'm nobody's fool and crawled on the stretcher. You know, it occurred to me that Kevin was seeing me naked way too often lately. 

"Don't worry, Nick, this is just day surgery. It'll be fine. They don't even have to open you up. They are going to scope through your esophagus." Kevin, I hate to tell you this, but I think you are only supposed to put digestible objects in your stomach. See, I can think when I really need to.

"I'll tell the nurse you are ready." Do it, and I'll never speak to you again. No, wait. Do it, and I'll speak to you every possible moment of our lives. That should stop him!

"Thank you, Mr. Richardson." Oh sure, suck up to Kevin. Nurse Plural (well, she never gave me her name) tucked one of those thin blankets around me and lifted a plastic package. "Here we are. Let's put these on your feet and this on your head." These turned out to be some type of silver leggings and cap, which the nurse explained would help me retain body heat during surgery. Maybe, but I looked like some alien in them. Hey, perhaps that's what's wrong with my stomach! An Alien creature is trying to eat its way out from the inside.

"Now I'm just going to put this in your IV. You'll feel really relaxed in a moment."

I doubt it. I don't' think there are enough drugs in the entire universe to make me relax. In fact, I am sure of ... oooooohhhhhhh. Wow. The sky is falling. No, that's a ceiling. Aje man, you gotta try this! Hey nurse, write this down; I wanna ask for it by name.

The next few minutes were hazy, to say the least. Not that I minded. I had plenty to do. Did you know that ceilings that have those black dots on them, you know the tiles with the little black holes? Well, in the average hospital room, there are over one million holes. Considering the condition I was in, I was happy I could count that high. Heck, under any conditions I'm proud I can count that high.

"Kev?"

"He left a few minutes ago, Mr. Carter, while you were sleeping." I was sleeping? Then who counted all those dots? "I'll be right back for you, OK?" Sure, fine, whatever.

"OK, Mr. Carter, we're ready for you now." A guy's voice. Who was ready for me, and exactly what was I suppose to do? Damit, I would have studied if I had known there was going to be a test. OK, I'm ready, as long as you aren't Frank. 

Suddenly I was moving, and this startled me until I realized that the stretcher was moving. Darn, I thought I had learned to levitate. At this time, I would like to give anyone who cares a word of advice. If you are stoned (On the legal stuff) and on a hospital stretcher going at a decent clip around corners and have a stomach problem, you might want to close your eyes. I didn't. I know better now as "we" had to make an emergency stop outside post-op for...well, by this point of you know what for. Let's leave the disgusting details to Nurse Plural and her cronies.

Actually, they were pretty nice about it, especially that guy. Whoever he was, he took being spewed upon much better than Howie. He patted my hand and told me it was OK; worse had happened to him. Worse than having someone decorate your clothes with their stomach contents? The only thing I could think of that was worse made me gag, which led to another colorful chapter in my relationship with the hospital staff.   
The guy, who turned out to be Paul David (The plural gene must be required for working in a hospital), left for "just a quick minute" to change into clean scrubs. Nurse Plural, who was fast enough to get out of the line of fire (I felt she had an unfair advantage, having seen my gastric tricks the day before), decided I needed something for nausea. 

"This will just take a minute, then we'll get you in a pre-op room, all right?"

I wish they would stop asking me if things were "all right" or "OK." If I disagreed, what would they do? Get Kevin, that's what I'll bet. And I'll bet they would enjoy every minute of it.

True to her word, the nurse returned with the "happy" medicine from the night before. I want this pointed out as I believe the blame for what happened to be on her shoulders. She had seen what the medication did to me; after all, what sober person waxes poetic about rubber chickens? Also, she left me alone. All alone, by myself, on drugs. Apparently, she didn't have a history of working with blondes.

"Mr. Carter, I'll be right back. I just need to page housekeeping. Paul David should be back by then, and we'll go up, OK?"   
OK, OK, OK. OOOOOOKKKKKK. That drug did an interesting tango with whatever I was already on. With no pain and no nausea, I became pretty interested in my surroundings, which Nurse Plural did not consider before parking me. Never, NEVER leave someone about to go INTO surgery with the patients that just came OUT of surgery. I should think this would be common sense, which I seemed to possess more of than the person in charge of me. 

Oh, this is not good. The person behind that curtain is moaning. And that guy over there looks like he might be dead. I think he is dead. In fact, I am sure of it. I can't see him breathing under all those covers from way over here. I should be able to, right? I mean, I can feel the molecules in my sheets at this point. I'm sure if the drugs gave me superhuman tactile senses, then I should have superhuman sight. I'm outta here. 

One would think that more hospital personal would be present where all the patients were, wouldn't one? Or perhaps they were there, but the sight of a six-foot man in silver to-the-knee leggings and cap, his fanny "free-floating" in the back, and his IV cradled in his arms is not an unusual sight. If not, I sure as hell would like to see what is. 

Around the corner and down the hall. No one here. I peeked around the next corner to see if the coast was clear. Precisely what I was hiding from was not clear to me by this time, but I was aware that I had to remain free at all costs. I was all alone in this, except for Houston, my pug. He was very good at this point, quiet as he could be in my arms. Good boy, Houston. He had finally learned to be quiet, now if I could just teach him not to bite. Luckily for any innocent bystanders, I had him on a leash, though it was awfully long for a pug - and for some reason attached to my hand and not around my wrist. Never mind, I could find his regular leash later. 

Hey, a telephone! That's what I needed. I could call Howie, and he would come to get me. I had memorized my phonecard number years before, which was a break, me having no pants and all. I punched in the number and waited. Where the hell was he? 

"This is Howie. Leave your name, number, and a brief message after the tone...." Damn, I had called his home number. Oh well, never let a chance pass you up!

"My name is Frack....my number is one million and thirty-six....my brief message is fruit-of-the-looms ride up. By the way, you should start buying your own!" 

"....that way." Oh no, I recognized the voice. Paul David. 

That meant Nurse Plural, and with my luck, Kevin could not be far behind. OK, around this corner and...hey, there was a stretcher just like mine! And the dead guy had a twin! Wait a minute, something strange was going on here. 

"....Mr. Richardson..." KEVIN. No, no, no. I couldn't face whatever it was that I couldn't remember that I didn't want to face. It's just better to keep going. Around the corner and down the hall and...another telephone! OK. I could call AJ. Maybe he would help me. How long could he hold a grudge over the firecrackers under the toilet seat incident? 

"Nick? Nick, where the hell are you?" A long time, it would seem. How did AJ manage to talk to me before I dialed the number? I didn't even have the receiver off the hook. "Nick!" Wow, he sounded like he was behind me. Right behind me. 

"Aje?" Suddenly I didn't want to turn around. Sure, it wasn't Kevin, but I had a feeling this was one of those tire-iron moments. 

"Nick, man, what are you doing? We've been looking all over for you, er...Nick? Um. Here, let's tie my sweater 'round your waist." Aje, purple doesn't go with olive green and silver! He ruined the entire look. 

"There, we got you covered up. Come on, let's get you back." 

"Is Kevin there?" I had a sinking feeling that he would be, and I had the impression that I needed to be anywhere Kevin wasn't. 

"He's worried about you, Nick. Don't freak; he's not mad at you. It's not your fault." Oh, Aje, you are so innocent for a man with twelve tattoos. 

"...LEFT HIM! YOU JUST LEFT HIM! WHAT TYPE OF..." Kevin was hot, which has nothing to do with his looks. I have never noticed his looks, except for his eyebrows.

"Here, Aje, take Houston. I don't want him getting hurt." 

"Take who? Nick, man...hey! Don't pull on that. You'll..." 

"NICK!" Too late, Kevin had spotted me. 

"Here Aje, thanks for helping me clean my room, man."

I made a break for it, but this time the silver leggings conspired against me. I slipped and felt a sharp pain in my left hand. AJ grabbed for me, which I consider being above and beyond the call of duty. I am quite a bit larger than him. Kevin and Paul David reached me just before I hit the floor, so I was saved from an embarrassing splat. Well, I could be thankful for that. I would hate to be embarrassed now. I mean, things were going so well.

"He pulled his IV out." IV? What IV? Hey AJ, don't hold Houston like that. Here, let me have him.

"Kevin, let go. I need to.." Oops. AJ was soaked. "AJ man, I'm sorry. I guess I should have let Houston outside. BAD doggie."

"What the..." 

"Cool it Kev, Nick's a bit confused." AJ, are you sticking up for me or pointing out my short-comings?

"Let's get Mr. Carter on the stretcher." It felt good to lay down. I was a bit pooped. What say we all take a nap? 

"We'll need to restart the IV." They were going to stick me again?

"I don't want an IV. Hey, did you ever wonder if Roman nurses call IV's fours?" I figured that a joke was the best way to save my ass. Speaking of which, I noticed AJ was holding his sweater as if it had been contaminated by the radioactive stuff I had to eat the day before. AJ, AJ, please don't turn into Kevin. 

"Mr. Carter, you need the IV for surgery." Don't talk to me like I'm stupid.

"I've decided not to have the surgery, so I don't need it." There, that explained everything. 

"Nick! Don't be stupid." 

"Kevin! Look what you did! You made Nick cry." Oh. I am embarrassed to cry in front of people - even the fake tears I was trying to conjure, but I guess I should look on the bright side. At least it was fake tears and not Houston pee. To be honest, I was more upset by the idea of having another IV than Kevin's words, but I let him think he did it. He could use the ego boost.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Nick." Don't say shit. It's not nice. "Honey..." Honey? Honey? Did they give Kevin some of my drugs? "...you need the IV. You have to have the surgery, Nick." Kevin leaned in close. I winced. I'm not sure if I remembered his threats or bracing for possible onion breath. "Come on, Nicky, let's get this done. It'll all be over soon." 

"OK." Really it wasn't, but I knew with the IV, I would get more drugs. No way was Kevin dipping into my stash.

As it turned out, Nurse Plural was as good as Kat, and the IV was started in no time. AJ and Kevin kept up a string of conversation, though I couldn't for the life of me follow what they were saying. Since this was not the first time this occurred, they just kept going. 

"Mr. Carter, they are ready for you in surgery now." Kevin, make sure my obituary doesn't mention this stunning outfit. Remember, the BSB have a reputation to uphold. 

"Here we go." And we did, with no help from me.


	10. A Fat Bullfrog

Scene One: Surgery

"Mr. Carter, we need you to turn over to your left side, please." 'We' helped me roll over and tucked a thick, warm blanket around me. 'We' pulled my right arm out straight, as it now housed the IV, which would soon be used to knock me out. Better that than a tire-iron. 

"Mr. Carter, we are going to put this between your teeth." It was a round, green object with a large hole in the center. Its purpose was to hold my mouth open once I was asleep. The scope, with its camera, would be passed through it into my stomach. This would enable my doctor to watch what was going on in "vomit-land" on the monitor behind me. 

"Here, open up just a bit." It wasn't too large, and a rubber-band-like attachment was placed around my head to hold it into place.

"All right, here comes the medication. Your arm may sting a bit. You may experience some dizziness, and then you will wake up in recovery."

It didn't sting, but my arm did get warm. Then my lips felt funny, like your foot waking up when it's been asleep. In my line of sight was a monitor in which I could see my reflection. I looked like a fat-mouthed bullfrog. What was that song Aaron use to sing? 'Oh, I went a-huntin' for a fat bullfrog, and I found one a-sittin' on a bumpy log. I hollered, "there's a Froggie....." 

Scene Two: Recovery

"...but the froggy said, "Ney! I'm just a green birdy with my feathers washed away."

"Mr. Carter, did you say something?" No, I sang it, thank you.

"How are you feeling?" 

"Cold." My voice was really small, and a little horse. "I need a bigger one. I'm too tall for a pony."

"Pony?" Brian, why are you confused? No one took a picture of your insides with a camera. God, I hope those don't end up in the hands of the press.

"It's OK. He's still a bit out of it. He'll most likely be that way for a few more hours. Why don't you wait with the others? We'll call you when he is out of recovery."

"Nick? I'm going to be right outside." 

Is it warm out there? I'm freezing here, man. Send in Howie. At least he'll blow hot air on me. 

"Just ask for me if you need anything. They know to come get me."

I hate to ask Brain, but I need a blanket! You'd think the people being paid for this would take care of it. They must still be sore about cleaning up the dog pee in post-op. Well, Houston has a small bladder.

"Mr. Carter? I'm Sarah. I'll be right here with you. Do you need anything?" I'll make one last effort.

"Cold." Please, a blanket, Howie talking, set me on fire, ANYthing!

"I can do something about that!" Oh, good. A pyromaniac to the rescue!

HHHHHUUUUUUMMMMM. Suddenly warm air flowed over my feet, legs, and back. Oooohhhhh, I was in heaven. This is better than sex - um...not that I know what sex is like. But.....um...you know, AJ has told me. Sure, that's it. AJ tells everybody. Did you know that AJ is so good at sex he makes himself scream? That's what he tells me, and being a virgin myself (OK, even I have the urge to laugh.)... And on to the next topic.

HHHHHHHUUUUUMMMMMM. Loud noise. She must have just asked all the guys to stand behind me and blow. I guess they didn't want Howie to have all the fun. You know, I'll bet AJ was disappointed with this definition of "blow."

"What are those?" Hey, my doctor's voice. When is he going to get on with the scope? "They look like large hair-dryers."

"Basically, that's what they are. They really work well." 

And so began what I am sure was, to the medical professionals, an interesting conversation concerning the various ways to keep cold patients warm. To me, it was just a long period spent wondering why I was awake. Hey, I'm awake! If you push anything down my gullet in this condition, I promise a return on your deposit. 

"Nick? Nick, how are you feeling?" I thought we had already established that. Oh, wait. I wasn't cold anymore.

"Warmer." My voice was a bit stronger. Hey, I could talk! Doc, the green thing has slipped out. It's not my fault! I didn't do it. Houston must have taken it while I was sleeping. I know AJ didn't. He can't stand anything that has spit on it. By the way, if you really want to get back at AJ, it is valuable knowledge. 

"It's all over Nick. You will be out of recovery in about thirty more minutes. We'll wait a couple of hours until you are a bit more focused, then we'll talk about the results, OK?" 

There they were, OKing me again. What if I demanded to know right now? What if I can't take it anymore? What if...oh heck. I'm tired. I'm taking a nap.

Scene Three: Hospital room. Late morning.

"OOOOHHHHHHHH, I went a-huntin' for a FAT bullfrog, and I found one a-sittin' on a bumpy log..."

"Shhh, Nick... we're in a hospital!' Really Kevin? I never noticed. Toss me that bedpan, will you?

"We should never have let the doctor change his pain medication." Kevin was evil; that's all there was to it. Perhaps that explains those eyebrows, ingrown horns.

"Chill, Kev. The doc said he would be high for a while after he woke up. Easy, he should come down soon." Brian was very understanding about my condition. Well, not entirely. He was eating Cheetos. Kind of cruel, I thought, considering I hadn't had food in over 48 hours.

"Nick! Give me that phone. You are not calling anyone else." Kevin grabbed my arm, twisting the phone from my hand. "Howie's Mom thought you had lost your mind." 

"HEY, you hurt me BADLY!" He owed me big. "Let's sing Christmas Carols!" 

"Nick, it's July. We'll catch pneumonia from thinking of the cold in this heat." Kevin was a Christmas pooper.

"Oh, come on! Let's sing my version of "Oh Christmas Tree." 

"You have your own version? How dumb." As this was coming from a guy with orange teeth, I felt Brian had no room to talk.

"Oh, Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree, how lovely are thy branches! Oh, Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree, we buy you on tree ranches..." Man, I sounded good!

"Hush, Nick! You're making too much noise!" Kevin looked like he expected a visit from the enema fairy any minute.

I continued, fearless. After all, I had been visited by that particular persona in ER, and enema's never struck twice. However, Kevin does, so I'll just keep tabs on him during my spectacular performance.

"Of all the trees out in the woods, you have the leaves that still look good..." The phone rang during this verse, but I was too busy doin' my thang to care.

"Oh, Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree, the lights and decorations..." Brian was conducting. He knew how to appreciate a good song.   
"Oh, Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree for drunken celebrations..." 

"No, No! Nick's not drunk...you see...." Who was Kevin talking to? Forget them, big finish.

"Oh, Christmas tree oh, Christmas tree, the brown pine needles on you. Oh, Christmas tree, oh, Christmas tree, the blazing flame is so true. Of all the trees within the house, You are the driest that's about..." Kevin slapped his hand over my mouth and shushed me. How rude.

"It's AJ. Here." 

“AAAAAAJJJJJJJJ! DUDE! What's hanging?" 

"About 9 inches, little man!" Oh AJ, you so bad. 

"No, no Aje, I'VE got size 11 feet!" There, let him do the math. 

"Oh, God." Kevin looked like he had sat on a tack. Well, we're in the right place for that. 

If possible, Brian was having a better time than me. At present, he was on the floor laughing so hard you'd think he would wet his pants. He better be careful around here. Some people stalk the halls with catheters.

"Where are you, Aje? Why aren't you here? I'm singing Christmas Carols, and these poop heads won't sing with me. Hey, do you know 'Oh, Christmas Tree'?" Kevin grabbed the phone back before I could break into verse. 

"Yea, OK. Noon. See ya then." They guys had decided on a sitting schedule, as they felt I shouldn't be left alone. I was insulted. After all, I had been left alone before. It was not my fault. Who knew you couldn't pop popcorn in the oven? 

A nurse arrived with another shot for me which turned out to be some type of sleeping medication. Kevin thanked her a lot. Some people are just plain mean.


	11. Stressed to the Max

Scene One: Early afternoon

Dr. Monsour dropped by later that afternoon. It was a defining moment in my life. After all, I would now discover the cause of my extreme discomfort. Of course, some of that could be blamed on AJ, who was now reclining on my legs. Kevin told him to get off, but AJ pointed out the scientific significance of his position. If I puked because he was on my legs, AJ might have proof of an unknown nerve between the calf and the stomach. That was just so weird that Kevin shut up.

"Mr. Carter, how are we this afternoon?" 

Good. My doctor was as bright and shiny as a new penny. Things couldn't be that bad. Unless there were that bad and my doctor was happy about the large sums of money he was about to squeeze out of me and my unsuspecting insurance company. Of course, they are already in the "going to have the shit surprised out of us" category for the Pug Pee/IV incident. 

"Well, I'm sure you are anxious to get the results of the test so we can get to work on treating your problem." 

Why no! What makes you think that? I'm not sick. I've only been working to improve my liquid spewing skills for the upcoming contest. It's for charity.

"Nick, what we see here..." 

And damn it, we did! The freak had pictures! Actual pictures of the inside of me. There's a Kodak moment I never want to be repeated. My lunch tried to have other ideas, but I forced it back. Spew on Howie, you get yelled at. Spew on AJ, you get killed.

"Easy Nick, you OK?" NO! Did I or did I not almost redecorate this room without the aid of fabric? 

"Here, lean back, and I'll just talk, no more pictures." 

Thank you. Just describe the condition; visual aids are not necessary.

"First, Nick has a virus. He..." 

"A VIRUS?" They stuck a camera in my guts, made me eat radio-active waste, stuck me a total of five times, and gave me a freaking enema, and shoved a catheter where nothing should ever be shoved, for a VIRUS? 

"Easy Nick, let Dr. Monsour finish. I'm sure there's more." 

There damn well better be. It better be some unheard-of virus that is very deadly. And I get to name it. How about "' N Stinky?" I like that.

"Nick, you do have a stomach virus, but that is not your main problem. The virus is being aggravated by..." 

"Howie?" Remember, I was still on painkillers.

"Nick...hush." Yes, Kevin, but don't think I didn't miss that look. Either Kevin would smack me, or he remembered the time he was trapped for three hours with Howie in an elevator. Poor guy wasn't the same for days.

"' er...no. An ulcer. Actually several ulcers." ULCERS? Ulcers? Wait, don't old people get those? Or really uptight people?

"How can I have an ulcer? Kevin doesn't have an ulcer!" That damn near broke AJ up, and Brian tried very hard not to laugh. Oh, shut up, both of you. Go look at a magazine.

"Nick, your ulcers are caused by bacteria. All the stress of your rather unique lifestyle has escalated the situation. Then along came this virus, and there you have it!" Have what? There I have what? 

"What's the treatment?" Oh damn you, Kevin, be calm. Breath in Nick; ulcers are not so bad. Bacteria, right? So I just take some medicine, and I'll be fine!

"Well, we'll have him on medicine that will fight the bacteria, but that alone will not be enough. One of the ulcers is bleeding, and we really need to get it under control."

Bleeding? Where? Where does ulcer blood go? Maybe that's how your anus is connected to an upset stomach. 

"How do we do that?" Now AJ was plural. Hey, maybe that's caused by a virus. 

"Nick needs to adjust his lifestyle a bit. His eating habits must change, at least for a while. And he needs to learn some stress-reducing techniques." 

"So he needs to watch what he eats?" I DO watch what I eat; thank you, Brian. It's not like I close my damn eyes. Heck, I get enough food all over with them open.

"Until the ulcers are cleared up, yes. I will have a list and want Nick to see a nutritionist. But some basics are no sodas.."

"WHAT?" My stomach almost came out of my mouth on that one. I don't think it was any more pleased with that announcement than I was.

"Hush Nick, and listen. It won't kill you to do without Cokes for a while." 

How would you know? It might. Maybe they are all that keeps me alive. Perhaps I'm stuck together with sugar water. 

"Nick, sodas have carbonation, which is bad for an ulcer, and caffeine, which also aggravates ulcers. You also need to avoid chocolate, spicy and very fatty foods..." 

"My God, you just described all that he eats!" Brain! I eat more than that! I HAD a cucumber. December 3, 1997. Dear Diary, I got up, went to practice, ate green shit. 

"Well, not now. Nick needs to be careful. Look, Nick, it's not forever. Just until we get the ulcers under control. Then you can, within limits, have the foods you want. You will also need to learn how to deal with stress. There are several techniques that you can use, and exercise is one of the best." 

So help me, if Kevin laughs, I will shave his eyebrows. "I am going to send Dr. Prade to see you. Dr. Prade will help you learn techniques to deal with stressful situations."

"Is he a shrink?" AJ! What a thing to ask.

Of course not; I'm not crazy. Right doc? Oh, doc? Hello - DOC! I don't like the look the doctor and Kevin are giving each other. Kevin, you creep! You knew all about this, didn't you!

"Nick, Dr. Prade is a psychiatrist, but that's not bad." Says you, creep. "Dr. Monsour and I talked, and I think what he has to say makes sense. We all lead stressful lives, and being sick just took its toll on you. This new doctor is only going to help you learn how to handle stress, nothing else."

Oh God, I don't remember when I've been this mad. Kevin talked to the doctor? Behind my bare, gownless back? I hope your chaps chafe. Damn it, damn it, damn it. The last time I was this mad, I punched AJ in the head. Of course, it goes without saying that I got my ass kicked, but I was only fifteen, and that is neither here nor there. 

"Nick? Man, you're shaking. Calm down." Brain, if I could, I would. 

"Hey, Kev, why don't you and ole doc holiday there go converse in the hallway....hmmm." Aje? He sounds pissed. So he didn't know. Well, I feel a bit better, and Kevin is looking a little guilty, which is fine by me.

"' K. Nick, I'll be right back." I won't miss you.

"Don't hurry on my account." Well, what do you know? Kevin looks like he has gas. Maybe someone should take a picture of his stomach.

"Nick! That was a crappy thing to say. Maybe Kevin shouldn't have talked to the doctor behind your back, but he was only trying to help you, to take care of you." I hate it when Brian is right. 

"Nick dude, I'd be pissed too, but you have to calm down; making yourself sicker isn't going to help. Be mad at the situation. Kevin was just being Kevin. His nose-butting is just his way of showing that he cares." So why do you always tell him to take a long walk off a short pier when he does it to you, Aje?

Scene Two: 4:45 PM

Almost two and a half hours later, and I was still mad. No longer shaking mad, but mad. By this time, I wasn't mad at Kevin; I realized he was trying to make it easier on me. I was mad at myself. How had I done this? How did I always manage to screw up in such grand proportions? The other guys weren't sick. They had stress, but they dealt with it. What the hell was wrong with me?

Kevin and Dr. Mounsour, not to mention Brian, AJ, and Howie had all re-enforced the point that it was not me, rather the bacteria that was causing all the havoc. Still, at that point in time, I felt like a giant loser. Excuse me, but I think I'll pout. 

"Mr. Carter? Are you awake?" Hey, open eyes are not always a sign of consciousness. "May I come in?" Nurse, I think you are confused. There is no "I," just "we." "Mr. Carter?" 

"Sure." Why not? Wait, you don't happen to have a catheter on you? 

"Mr. Carter, I'm Doctor Prade." Dr. Prade? 

I turned over to confront the dreaded shrink and blinked. I was trying to make sure my eyes did not have ulcers. Nope, what I saw was real. Dr. Prade, Lord love me, was tall, slender, blond, beautiful... and female. Not to mention built like a brick shit-house. 

"Dr. Prade?" I thought it wise to double-check. You know my luck.

"Yes, but hey, call me JC." JC? No problem whatsoever. I sat up quickly as certain parts of my anatomy decided to wake up from the past few days' enforced sleep. Muscle relaxers wear off at the worst times. 

"Are you all right?" 

"Yes." Down, boy. "As a matter of fact, I'm feeling much better." Just need to hide something, doc.

Wouldn't you know it? JC had a wonderful laugh. Not to mention a fine speaking voice. Gentle and a bit smoky, very sexy. Why me? Good Lord, a fine-looking woman, and she's my doctor. Fate sucks. 

"I hope you don't mind, but Max goes wherever I go." 

No, I don't mind at all, doc. Excuse me while a wipe the drool off my chin. By the way, who's Max? 

"Max?"

"'mere Max." Max? 

I followed JC's gaze to discover - a Basset Hound? A tri-colored Basset that was slowly making it's way from the door to the chair Dr. Prade had flopped in. That was one slow-moving dog. 

"Sorry, Max is a little hyper today." 

HYPER? That dog was damn near in reverse. Now I know why the cartoon dog's name is Droopy. Everything drooped on this dog: his skin, his eyes, his walk. 

"Hey Max, meet Nick! By the way, do you like dogs?"

"Sure, I have four." Man, that was a big droopy dog.

"Pugs, right?" You been talking to Kevin? "Susan told me about the Houston thing."

"Susan?" Did JC know a fan?

"Your nurse, Susan. Remember her?" She had a name? 

"Oh, yea. She never told me her name." 

"Did you ask?"

Am I in trouble here? Doc, if you are making an attempt to reduce my stress levels, you are failing.

"Uh...no." That sounded bad. In fact, it was terrible. Why hadn't I asked her name? But why did the doctor care? "Um... I've been drugged up since I got here." 

"Yea, I now. Relax, Nick, I'm not going to spank you." 

Oh, GOD, don't mention that! There goes that mind of mine again. Me, over doc JC's lap, in nothing but my backless gown. Lordy, lordy, lordy. Knees to the chest, Carter. Let's keep this clean, not to mention the sheets!

"Are you cold?" I swear her eyes had a twinkle in them. Either that or she carries her own personal mirror ball.

"Yea, a bit." No, I'm hot. Very hot. Too damn hot. Susan? Can I get an ice-pack here? I seem to have some swelling.

"Sorry, Nick, I was just yanking your chain. Just relax." 

Relax. Yes, that's the idea. Rover, relax. Sit. Stay. Heal. Play dead, for heaven's sake!

"It's just that so many people treat nurses like they are "nobodies." Their job is tough, and some people just give them a hard time."

I wouldn't do that, I promise! No, never. Not in a million years.

"So Nick, eaten any radio-active eggs today?" 

Oh shit, she knew. I swear, I was having a bad day. I took my chances and shot that grin again, and what do you know! This time it worked. JC cracked up, big time.

"It's fine, Nick. Sorry man, I just had to see your face! Wanda (I guess that was the nurse in x-ray) told me all about it. And what your friend Kevin said." 

Oh, God. Two people after by backside. Damn. My butt is way too famous for my comfort.JC just leaned down to rub Max's back. He sighed, contented. 

"Nick, I'm sure Dr. Monsour has told you why I am here. I specialize in helping people with stress, and that's what I am going to be doing for you for the next few months." MONTHS?

"But...but...I have a tour..." No way! I couldn't just stop! "We can't cancel! We have..." My voice left me for a moment. What if the guys had no intention of canceling? What if they planned to do the tour without me? If my stomach hadn't been upset before, this would have done it. I can't imagine what my face looked like, something between having severe gas and being circumcised with a chain-saw. 

"Nick, it's OK!" 

Dr. Prade rushed to my side. She reached out and began to rub my stomach with small, slow circles. Any other time and I would have enjoyed this. But at the moment, all I could think of was missing the tour.

"Nick, your not going to miss the tour!" Reading minds, are you doc?   
"I'm coming with you!" Excuse me? With me? ON TOUR?  
"Dr. Monsour and Kevin talked it over. You need a few months of assistance in dealing with the stress. So, presto! I'm coming!" 

What else had Dr. M and Kevin decided without consulting me? 

"Nick, it will be cool. You'll see." 

She leaned in, eyes soft and compassionate. That would have been all good, except with her hand still on my stomach, her arm was in the position to....to...brush against...well, I should have asked for that ice-pack. To say something perked right up goes without saying. Dr. Prade perked up a bit too, at least the smile on her face did. The twinkle in her damn eyes almost blinded me.

"So, Nick," I swear she purred. "I've always wondered." 

Oh God, what? Is it true what they say about men and the size of their feet?

"Why do you guys call AJ bone?" Shoot me, please. 

"He's really thin." The truth shall set you free.

"Really? Damn. I always thought it was because of the "Mr. Happies" he tends to get in concert." 

I am going to die. Right now. Bury me face down, so you don't have to explain the "bulge" in the coffin top.

"Nick, I think this is going to be an interesting tour." No shit, Sherlock. "Don't you worry. By the time I'm done, you will be as relaxed as good 'ole Max."

I will never relax again. At least not until I am between the sheets in my very private hotel room. Rubber gloves for the housekeepers are on me!


End file.
